Feeding the Locus
by xCheshireCatfish
Summary: Practically everyone imprisoned within Arkham Asylum came in kicking and screaming, but why hadn't she? TDK!Joker x OC. Eventually.


*2,121 words before rewrite, 3,471 after.

I changed Rider's 'name' to Pandora, and her real first name to something more modern. She also has a certain disorder I've taken interest in recently, so your job is to try and figure out what it is! Here's a hint: it starts with an S. Most of the writing is still here, I just added more length and detail to it; changing her persona is also included. I didn't name her Pandora just so Joker can call her Dora, I swear. :shot:

Remember that Arkham Asylum is the layout in the video game _Batman: Arkham Asylum_, but Joker and the other characters are _The Dark Knight_ personas.

**I do not own Batman, only Pandora and this plot.**

* * *

The static of an old television was heard once it was turned on forcefully, followed by a tape being inserted into a VCR. The words 'play' appeared in the top left hand corner of the screen. Soon the static was replaced with an image; a small room with two chairs on either side of a table. The camera seemed to be in a corner, everything but the door in view. Said door clicked open and a ravenette was shoved in the left chair, while a male doctor sat in the other. It was obvious a well – built security guard was standing next to the camera, barely unnoticed by the lens.

* * *

It was eerie, the silence around the trio. The inmate was silent, head down and looking into her lap. Her black bangs ratted in front of her eyes, as if shielding them from the world. But there was no time to waste; both the doctor and young woman were there for a reason. Be a completely different reason they were present, however they were still sitting across of one another, in the same room, same asylum.

It didn't matter if the doctor started to speak first, it certainly didn't ease the uncomfortable stress between him and her, "well. I know why I am here; security knows why he is here. Why are you here?"

A response hadn't come out of the girl immediately, nor did she show any movement. The psychiatrist waited patiently, though was getting a bit aggravated from the ticking of the clock. This woman was his first patient within Arkham Asylum, yet still he had heard many things about her. However it was the third or fourth session and she hadn't opened her mouth once. Devoted to his duty as psychiatrist, a therapist, a person trying to help the mentality of others; he would make her speak when the situation called for it. He would get inside her head and fix all the screws that were loose.

For a moment his hard, stern eyes glanced down at the clipboard, at the file on this girl. The majority of it was blank, saved for her eye color, hair color, skin, etc. But there was no blood type, age, or anything more personal than that printed down. There was an estimate of her being in her early or mid – twenties, and a name. It wasn't her real one, no, but a persona she must've made up herself. _Why agree to a video session if you aren't going to speak?_

"Pandora. That isn't your real name, is it?"

When she didn't speak still, he took an opportunity to survey her appearance: she had short, black hair that stuck out at the ends, even to the point in covering her eyes completely in certain positions. It wasn't dirty, or greasy, however it still held that rugged look to it. That must be due to not showering since her entry more than a week ago. Her attire wasn't to die for, as Arkham Asylum's uniform hung loosely at her form. He noted the tears and scratches along the clothing.

"Thought you'd be a curious and talkative creature, since you did let out all those negative emotions from your box, didn't you?" The doctor chuckled, not meaning to insult her in the slightest. Anything to get her to speak; didn't matter if she got angry. This was why the security guard was in with them; she was unpredictable.

Pandora flicked her gaze up towards her 'doctor', glaring at him dangerously through her thick bangs. Her head was still lowered; she was giving him one of the meanest look he'd ever seen. It sent a shudder down his spine, but he held his composure. He was a professional, and wouldn't see himself fall from the horrid look she sent in his direction.

"_Oh-ho. She didn't like that."_

"Can you tell me your real name?"

Pandora only kept her mask on, lip twitching into a small scowl. The doctor stared at her for a moment before sitting up straighter, folding his hands onto the table. The clipboard rested in his lap with ease, and he crossed one leg over the other. "Normally, we try to calm down our patients, due to them getting anxious. Strangely with you, it's the opposite. This is your third attempted interview and you have yet to say a word."

The inmate broke her gaze from the older man, and peered towards the direction of the camera with her head still tilted down, as if eyeing it strongly. Perplexed, the doctor followed her line of sight, only to realize what was wrong with the situation.

"You don't like the camera? I can turn it off; it doesn't have to be on."

Pandora watched as her doctor reached for a red button and pressed it, "Now you should feel more confident."

"_Only you didn't turn it off; only zooming in on the poor woman. Doc, that's, uh, a nasty habit, lying. _

_How is she supposed to trust you?"_

There was silence for a moment, and the doctor swore he felt sweat tickling at his brow. She was pestering him and making him fidget, yet she hasn't said a single thing to him or about her imprisonment. It was nerve wrecking, this woman was nerve wrecking; her composure was bold and she held it with pride. So he decided to take a different route, "I have heard that you've been feeling unexplainable pain in numerous parts of your body. Does anything hurt right now?"

Pandora kept her eyes on the camera still, eyebrows knitted underneath her hair. She searched the piece of equipment, wondering why there was still a blinking light next to the lens. The cord plugged into the wall suggested that it was charging, but she felt otherwise.

"Pandora? Am I right, or are you simply–"

"I always hurt."

"O-Oh? Where?" He was shocked when she finally spoke, and by how mature the young lady sounded. It didn't seem to suit her all that well, as she looked no younger than eighteen but sounded twenty.

"My chest."

The doctor hastily flipped some pages from his clipboard until there was a blank one, and he began writing. "Anywhere else?"

"Back."

A nod and more scribbling followed, "Yes?"

"Abdomen, extremities."

"Extremities?" he peered over the rims of his glasses, silently asking for her to continue.

"My forearms always burn."

"And from what I have heard, there haven't been explainable reasons to why you are having these pains?"

"I have sexual indifference, food intolerance to fruit, vomit occasionally, loss of consciousness, amnesia–"

"Hold on, hold on," the doctor held up a hand to halt her speaking, to which she responded by frowning. He finished writing down what she had been telling him, before looking up at her in both curiosity and nervousness.

"Are you pregnant, Pandora?"

_A loud cackle, "what an accusation, Doc!"_

Pandora responded with gritted teeth, glaring towards the elder man as she spoke, "I have _amnesia_ and _lose consciousness _at the utmost random times. Do I sound as if I am carrying a _baby_?"

The boldness in her tone made the doctor regret asking the simple question; he sure didn't mean any harm or to insult the young woman. It was only to confirm his curiosity. From what was being said, it seemed she knew exactly what was going on, but all her caretakers and medical doctors weren't able to assign a diagnosis on her. Some of the staff believe her 'symptoms' aren't really symptoms at all; she _was_ an inmate in a mental institution after all.

"You have my apology; I didn't mean to anger you. These are all the… Symptoms you have?"

"No."

"So… Amnesia? How bad is that, do you know?"

"I don't remember."

It was faint, but the sound of security snorting reached the psychiatrist's ears.

"So then, do you realize why you are here? Or not, because of this… Amnesia?"

"No."

It was then the professional noticed something carved into her arm, though now that her wrists were facing down he couldn't make out what it had been. "You mean to tell me that you aren't aware to why you're residing in Arkham?"

"It was all necessary."

The Doctor blinked in distress; expression painted like a portrait over his face. "You've–… You've be joking."

"_Ah~. Doesn't sound like it."_

"I assu–"

Fists hit the table and The Doctor was towering over her, "third and fourth degree of _murder_! Aggravated assault, burglary, theft! The list is endless; you've committed all these felonies and claim nothing of it?!"

"–assure you not," she finished slowly, "I don't joke, I don't lie, and I always speak of the truth."

The security guard motioned for the enraged doctor to take a seat, and he obliged, cheeks flushed in hatred; disgust. Pandora lifted a single finger and the doctor was able to recognize that there was the number '6' embedded into her skin.

"There's one error in that little speech of yours. Nothing is endless, you know. Everything has an end to it; some simply takes longer than others. Life, fame, fortune – it all had to end sometime."

"Does that six on your wrist have any connection towards your thinking?"

The woman grinned – and, oh, what a grin it was; full of mischief and malice was what laid behind her smile. Her voice seemed to rise upon excitement of his question, not wasting any time to reply.

"It looks like the number six doesn't it? Isn't it? Yes, the symbol of imperfection. My life isn't complete – nor perfect – until I die. Everyone and everything's life cycle doesn't go fully 'round until that being is breathing its last breath. Of course, when you're breathing your last breath, you're still alive though, right?"

The doctor was gawking slightly with his eyes a bit larger than how they were supposed to be. Even the security guard was speechless on how blunt she was about the sensitive subject. He sat back against the frame of his chair, coughing in his fist as if to gain the composure that had almost slipped away.

"And… So you carved that into your skin as an example, maybe?"

In the same instant her smile appeared it had suddenly disappeared from both men's' sight. "How do you know this was on purpose? It could've been an accident, you know. I could have fell, or been pushed out a second – story window. That has happened before, though, when I was three… No, five. Wrong, I was– I was six, that's right."

"This… Your demeanor started when you were six then, is that what you are telling me?"

Pandora shrugged nonchalantly, "It has to be. I don't remember."

It was another long silence as the doctor scribbled down some things down on his clipboard, mind not seeming to be in the right place. He swallowed visibly, mentally not prepared to listen to the mindset of this young inmate.

"Let's change the subject for now. I would like to discuss this morning's events, if you will."

She had tilted her head in mock interest, voice hoarse, and "what did I do?"

Her innocent tone threw both the men's guard down to the floor, having it scatter along the tile. Never in the doctor's career had he worked out a session with such a 'serious' client. He recalled a fairly short session with a man who had dark green hair, black eyes and a twisted red grin, though, the meeting wasn't complete up until that point. Dealing with a handful of patience with the need to commit suicide is what he signed up for, not bloodthirsty criminals who had thoughts of macabre in their heads every single second of the day. Perhaps Arkham wasn't the place for him, which is why he was suddenly regretting how he had doubted what these people were capable of.

"Doctor?"

He blinked and looked up at his colleague, shaking his head in order to rid the memories that had washed over him so suddenly. His tone was quick, trying to hide his true emotions. He wanted to get away from her as quick as possible; she didn't seem like the other patients. It was almost as if she was more stable than the rest – but he forced himself to ignore the option since they were in a mental institution.

"I'm alright, do not worry yourself," he gestured towards Pandora, "this is about you. You tried escaping this morning, didn't you?"

"Wrong~."

"Wrong?"

"Don't assume something when you don't know the answer."

"I'm not assuming," he began gathering his confidence again, "I'm simply telling you what I witnessed."

"Seeing isn't believing; just because you see something doesn't mean it is what you think it is what you want to see."

The guard had to think her statement over for a few moments.

"Just tell me what you were thinking when you tried escaping the electric doors, please…"

"It was exactly what you saw."

Confusion took over him again, "You just sai–"

"–I was going through the electric waves, shocks, of the door to my cell."

"Why were you esca– Why did you do so?"

There wasn't anything serious about how she spoke, "the rays looked like fireflies, I wanted to touch them~. The guards thought I was crazy!"

Now the man surely wanted to smack the woman over the head. With the clipboard to be precise, or maybe his fist; whichever hurt the most would do. It took all his energy and willpower not to slam her into the wall, though his voice stated otherwise. "This isn't a game, Pandora, not at all. Even if rats were able to break through and scurry into your cell undetected, the staff would not believe you in the slightest. You are a schizophrenic that doesn't deserve any hospitality! You're a _criminal_."

_Hn. Am I truly that crazy? I don't think so at all, it all makes sense to me._

Flickers of the overhead lights above were the only movement in the small space, side from the doctor's heavy breathing.

"_Ohahaha! Look at you go, Doc! I say, you do have a, uh, nasty temper. Though, she's telling you what you need to know, yet you aren't_ listening_."_

Five minutes passed until the doctor relaxed enough to speak, though it was ragged when he coughed into his fist, "mind telling me the remaining few symptoms, if there are any more?"

"Minor seizures, loss of feeling touch," Pandora trailed off, mouth tightening into a thin line. Suddenly she hissed and dropped her head, looking at her stomach as she pressed a hand against her abdomen. Her knees went together as if she was trying to subside some pain. The doctor went into alert; standing up quickly to look down at her.

"Pandora? Pandora, what's the matter?"

When her shoulders started to shake, the older man reached forward to take hold of them in an attempt to calm her down. This was when she flinched and lashed out at the doctor, pushing hard on his chest with a pained gasp. The security guard wasted no time in taking hold of her wrists, yanking her back. Pandora let out a shrill shriek as her body was thrust down, back painfully pressed against the bottom of the chair. Her legs and lower half were twitching, but when her head rolled back it made the security guard reach for his little radio latched onto his chest.

"_Oh-hoh? What do we have here?"_

A static was heard as he pressed the button, "I need a medic in room–"

"N-No! Jasper, leave her! Let go of her!"

Jasper, the security guard, snapped his head over to the psychiatrist, who was already prying his hands apart from the frantic Pandora. He pushed his guard back and made him let go of the radio.

"Leave her be, she's having a minor seizure. Nothing to worry about! Just let her wash it out!"

"Doctor, that's all the more reason to bring her to the hospital wing!"

"_What are you trying to, uh, do, Doc? You want to kill the poor doll?"_

"If what she says is true, this will be nothing. She had these all the time and always ends up fine. Either she's messing around with us, or–"

"–Or we'll lose a patient, is that really necessary?"

He didn't have a chance to reply. When he glanced over to the female patient, she had slid onto the floor, unmoving. His eyes widened and he went over to her, moving the chair out of the way so he'd be able to kneel next to her. The two men stood in silent tension, one waiting for her to wake up and save his pride while the other was about to call for help and save her life.

There was laughter then; pure, loud, outrageous laughter. They couldn't help but stare, eyes wide. First came shock, then confusion, and finally, at least for the Doctor's sake, anger. He grit his teeth and towered over the ravenette, who was still laughing on the floor.

"I knew it! You were faking it this whole time! Admit it, this is all an act!"

Pandora tried to answer, but instead of words, there were just gasps of air. She couldn't form a proper sentence before breaking down. The truth was that it did hurt. She was in pain, laughing was just a way to rid of it. It was the only thing that would keep her from crying. Her whole body was aching, on the inside and the out. It was a condition that had never been diagnosed and probably would never be, if her psychiatrist thought she was acting.

Pandora has no pain tolerance. That is her weakness that she tries to hide. She tried everything to try and toughen herself up, until she was told to laugh. Laugh when you're sad, laugh when you are frightened, and laugh when you get hurt. Laughter was really the best medicine in her case.

The security guard seemed to have enough of her charade. He pulled the psychiatrist aside, who was still flushed with anger. Then he reached down, taking hold of Pandora's arm and yanking her up to her feet. Pandora did something neither of them would have expected; she started fighting.

Once Jasper had touched her shoulder, a shooting spark of pain rushed through her. She flinched and twisted her body, screaming inside her skull. Her expression was wild and one with pain; eyes wide and glazed over. Before she had the chance to strike, however, Jasper had her pressed down into the table. He fumbled with his handcuffs before slapping them on her slender wrists.

The Doctor had backed away into the door, fearing for his own safety. He watched as Pandora was restrained, kicking Jasper's legs at a vague attempt to get away. She let a scream that made his ears ache.

Then, just as soon as it had happened, it was over. Pandora slumped into the cool metallic of the table, panting hard. She felt her pain subside and begin to wither away to a dull ache, something she had grown used to. Her body slumped, telling Jasper it was alright to lessen his grip on her. But instead of letting go, he lifted her up to stand.

"I think we're done here, Doctor."

It took a few seconds, but he was able to respond, "y-yes, of course."

Pandora was carried out of the small room, allowing the psychiatrist to finally breathe. He sighed and shook his head, turning to the camera. The little red light was still on, indicating it was still recording the session. Just as he was about to press the power button, he heard a low hiss coming from the hallway.

"I really, _really_, hate liars."

* * *

With that the footage ended, static once again jotting about. The tape ejected itself before it had been taken out of the cassette.

"Time to move, boys, it's rude to keep a lady waiting."

Only a set of three men stood and hurried out of the ruined warehouse, their boss staying with the rest of the group of clowns momentarily. He kissed the tape mockingly with a grin, "I'm, uh… _Anxious _to meet you, Doll. Though I certainly hope you are as… Interesting as you show yourself to be."

His tongue couldn't help but lap over the visible scars outing from the corners of his mouth, smearing the red paint along his lips only slightly. "Because, if you aren't... I'll, be _gravely_ disappointed."

Soon he burst out in a cruel fit of laughter, crew having no choice but to join in. The antagonizing man threw the tape into a box next to the television, filled with identical.

* * *

Okayyy so this is kind of a weird chapter. At first I was just going to write what the Joker was seeing. But instead I decided to make it into the sort of flashback scene, so you know more about the situation. I did not add much of Pandora's thoughts, though, since that will sort of give away too much. Plus the Joker wouldn't know them anyway.

So, yeah, the centered and italic font throughout the scene is what the Joker's expressed thoughts when he's watching it on the screen. So it kinda switches back and forth from watching the scene on TV versus what was actually going on. Does that make _any _sense? I hope so.

Please give some reviews! Suggestions are welcomed, too!


End file.
